


personal involvement

by apolliades



Category: Inception (2010), Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: ...sort of, Airports, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Id Fic, M/M, One Shot, Reluctant PDA, Short & Sweet, eames is sort of alfie but sort of not?, it is what it is, look whatever i write what i want, we haven't fully decided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 08:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolliades/pseuds/apolliades
Summary: Cobb's latest business proposal involves an extraction from big-time gangster Thomas Shelby. Eames has some objections.





	personal involvement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lapoesieestdanslarue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue/gifts).



> this ship was borne of an innocent text comparing tommy & alfie to fischer & eames which just.. spiralled. at least 50% of the responsibility is [mia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lapoesieestdanslarue)'s.

“Nah.” Eames leans back in his chair, chin against his knuckles. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to advise you against this particular venture, Dom.” 

He doesn’t elaborate, yet. It suits him better to wait until he’s asked. And besides, he’s enjoying studying the gradually evolving micro-expressions of irritation shifting slowly over Arthur’s face; it would be a shame to rush them. 

“Why?” Cobb asks, finally, doing a poor job of masking his surprise behind professionalism. “It’s relatively easy money, Eames, a simple extraction — what’s the problem?” 

Eames leaves it another second. He watches a tendon flex in Arthur’s magnificently sharp jaw. 

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mr Eames?” 

 _There_ it is. Eames allows himself a slow half-smile and straightens up. He doesn’t look directly at Arthur, but makes a vague gesture towards the whiteboard, rolling his wrist.

“I happen to have a bit of experience with Thomas Shelby, that’s all.” 

There’s a pause. Eames relaxes back into his seat. 

“Would that experience be professional or personal?” Cobb presses. 

Eames tilts his head one way and then the other, like he’s considering his answer. “A little of both,” he decides, eventually. 

Realisation, as it dawns on Arthur’s face, is beautiful. He rolls his eyes with such fervent exasperation that his black lashes flutter, for a moment, like hummingbird wings. Eames could spend _hours_ just watching this man be annoyed, before getting bored. 

“He’s sleeping with him,” Arthur says, flatly, with no room for doubt. 

To Eames’ immense gratification, Cobb balks. “Wh— _present tense?!”_

Eames smiles sweetly. It’s answer enough. 

“You didn’t think to mention this _before_ Cobb gave us his whole damn pitch?” Ariadne chimes in, chastising him with her quick rounded vowels and wide eyes. 

He doesn’t say anything. He sits back and watches them figure it out for themselves. 

“If he’d let on that he had _personal involvement_ with the mark before hearing Cobb’s pitch then we would’ve sent him on his way and hired a different forger.” Arthur hits the nail on the head. He’s always been smart. “This way he knows all the goddamn details and is fully equipped to warn his _gangster boyfriend_ and defend him against the extraction. Not that he’ll need to, since this thing’s a bust now.” 

“Very good, Arthur,” Eames tells him approvingly. He manages to resist the urge to call him _clever boy,_ but only just, and then takes a moment to survey the three lovely expressions of incredulity and aggravation directed towards him. Oh, so he’ll be in trouble for a bit, and Arthur will loathe him with a little extra passion for a while. It’s nothing he can’t endure. And he’s sure his team will realise, eventually, that he was _really_ being rather considerate by telling them (almost) up-front; he could’ve waited, after all, let them into the war-zone that is Tommy’s head, and fucked them over from the inside — or let Tommy deal with them himself, which would quite possibly have been worse. _This_ is forgivable, even if it’ll take a while. That? Not so much.

“Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me—” Eames stands and picks up his jacket, one finger hooked under the label, slings it over his shoulder. “—I have to collect my fiancé from the airport. His plane’s due to land in about…” he feigns checking his watch, “…mm, an hour and a half. Oh, but—” he makes his smile apologetic, inclines his brow slightly towards Cobb’s whiteboard, “—you already knew that. Cheerio!” 

-

He was telling a bit of a fib when he said he _had_ to collect Tommy; in actuality Tommy isn’t expecting him at all, and for that matter he doesn’t look quite as pleased to see Eames as Eames would’ve hoped. 

“This is a surprise.” Tommy smiles dryly when Eames makes his presence known at baggage claim by swooping in and kissing the back of his neck. 

“Hello, darling,” Eames purrs, sliding his arms around Tommy’s waist. Tommy turns in his embrace, but doesn’t attempt to extract himself just yet; he must be in a decent mood, to humour him like this in public. Maybe he is pleased to see him, after all. To Eames’ delight, Tommy even puts his hands on his chest and leans in close to murmur in his ear. 

“What happened to having dinner on the table when I got home, Alfie?” He’s keeping his tone light, but there’s a touch of strain in his voice — he’s tired, Eames can tell, by that, by the line of his mouth, by the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers — but his skin is warm against Eames’ cheek. He can feel how strung taught his body is and how badly he wants to lean into him, let him take his weight, but can’t allow himself just yet. With the press of his palm to the small of Tommy’s back, Eames promises him, _soon._

“I’m a man of many talents,” Eames tells him, and kisses the side of his jaw.

That’s Tommy’s limit, though; he hums as he pulls back, steps out of Eames’ arms and straightens the hem of his suit jacket. Eames lets him, and studies him for a moment before leaning forward and kissing him on the mouth. He loves Tommy for his limits; he gets bored too quickly without something to push against. 

Tommy pulls back almost immediately. “We’re in public,” he says quietly, with a warning note to his voice. 

“I know.” Eames smiles.

“People are looking.” 

“I know.” 

Eames is certain without having to check that if Cobb hasn’t followed him here himself, he’ll have sent someone else to do it. That man’s never been foolish enough to trust Eames entirely; he’ll have wanted to verify his apparent relationship with Thomas Shelby for himself. Eames respects him for it, appreciates a man who does his work thoroughly. And it gives him an excuse to put on a bit of a show, even if Tommy will no doubt find some way to get back at him for it later.

Relenting, Eames steps back and lays his hand over Tommy’s, taking his suitcase from him. “How was the flight?”

“Long,” Tommy says, allowing him.

“I’ve got a cab waiting,” Eames tells him, touching his arm just lightly to guide him towards the exit. 

“Thank fuck,” Tommy mutters under his breath, and when Eames laughs softly, he looks at him with the most beautiful expression of exhaustion and relief that Eames has ever seen. On Tommy Shelby, relief looks quite a lot like love. 

-

In the taxi Tommy keeps to his own side, and falls asleep with his head against the window rather than on Eames’ shoulder. But Eames doesn’t mind; Tommy’s never exactly been effusive with public displays of affection, and getting him to accept being kissed more than once in a busy airport feels like enough of an accomplishment in itself. 

He’s already waking as the cab slows to a stop, but Eames can’t resist the opportunity to lean over, undo his seatbelt for him, and murmur, “Honey, we’re home,” by his ear. It means that the first thing Tommy does when he opens his eyes is roll them heavenwards, but he’s smiling when he does it. 

“You’d better have been serious about somehow managing to have dinner waiting,” Tommy says as Eames, at his own insistence, unloads his suitcase from the boot of the cab. Tommy stands on the pavement with his hands in the pockets of his jacket and the corners of his mouth turned fractionally down. It’s one of the faces he makes when he wants a cigarette. “I’m bloody starving.” 

Eames grins at him and thumps the roof of the taxi. “Don’t you worry, love. Taken care of.” 

He’ll tell Tommy about Cobb and his plans later, he decides, when he’s had time to recuperate and the weight of the days of work and hours of travel on his shoulders has lightened, if only a little. And Tommy will be pissed off when he finds out Eames kept it from him, and he’ll sulk — as much as he might insist that he’s “a fucking grown man” who “doesn’t bloody sulk”, Eames knows better — but it’ll be worth it. The rest will do him good. 

For now all Eames intends to do is get Tommy through the front door and lock it firmly behind them, take him away from prying eyes, so he can use a rather specialised skillset of his to ease some of the tension from his back, so he can kiss him till his mouth goes soft. So that together they can forget themselves and their burdens, at least for a while. 


End file.
